


The Fence on Th'Rayl

by Hammocker



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, As much as you can when you're a ghost, But he wants to make things right, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Pre-Slash, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, Qui-Gon made some mistakes in life, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29281737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker
Summary: Obi-wan found himself alone, on that same backwater desert planet where everything had started, and overwhelmed with emotions that he’d been trained to bury. How had it all come to this?
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	The Fence on Th'Rayl

**Author's Note:**

> Playing some fast and loose with the lore here. Some bits and bobs taken from the Kenobi book, but definitely not sticking hard to canon as far as details.

Obi-wan woke in a cold sweat, mind swirling, head pounding. It wasn’t like him, as his long-practiced meditation should have made sleep a peaceful affair. Now, though, something was different. In his sleep-addled daze, he’d forgotten where he was, and why he was there, even if only for a brief instant.

All at once, the previous week came back to him. Anakin’s fall and the Order he dragged down with him. Padme’s death in childbirth, and the separation of the twins. Palpatine, damn him, why hadn’t they all seen through him sooner? Just weeks ago, Obi-wan had been a General of the Republic, a legion of clones at his command, travelling the galaxy. There had always been something that needed to be done or somewhere to go.

Now, he found himself alone, still, and overwhelmed with emotions that he’d been trained to bury. How had it all come to this? Anakin was meant to bring balance to the Force, not…

Obi-wan swallowed through a dry throat. All of this was his fault. Everything that had happened with Anakin. Why hadn’t he seen a change sooner?

Overwhelmed by his inner turmoil, Obi-wan had to force himself not to hide his face in his hands and give up, instead forcing himself upright.

He glanced upward, finding that the night sky was visible through a scar in the roof. With a grumble, it occurred to him that he was going to need better shelter than this long-abandoned, crumbling sandstone shack. Perhaps he could have repaired it, but would that be worth the effort?

Of course, during the Clone Wars, he had made do in far less hospitable conditions than these, but those had all been very temporary. He needed something more permanent for his very permanent exile. He felt his throat clench up once more as it hit him that he was unlikely to ever see the Jedi Temple or even Coruscant itself ever again.

As he worked to process his emotions, he grew aware of a presence, like a vibration in the Force. It was familiar, something Obi-wan had felt not too long ago, in Master Yoda’s presence. When he’d channeled-

As Obi-wan tilted his head up, and there, formed from a strange, ethereal light, stood a familiar figure, tall and imposing, yet unquestionably benevolent, even with a new, ghostly hue surrounding him. For a moment, his troublesome thoughts melted away, and he was brought back to an easier time in his life.

“Master,” he breathed, scarcely believing his eyes.

“You’ve earned the right to be called my equal in the time since we last met.” Qui-Gon gave a courteous, if curt bow. “My superior even, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-wan flinched at the title. It meant little now that the Jedi Order was obliterated.

“Why have you come?” Obi-wan asked, avoiding the troubles in his mind. “How have you come? I’d thought only Master Yoda could summon you in this form.”

“This particular art is more nuanced than simple summoning.” Qui-Gon gave a puzzling gesture towards Obi-wan. “As for why, my intent is to atone for the past,” Qui-Gon explained, vague as he had often been while Obi-wan was still a padawan. “Yoda may be among the wisest of Jedi, but he need not hear our personal matters.”

“Personal matters?” Obi-wan echoed. “This is hardly the time for a heart to heart, not after what’s befallen the galaxy.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Qui-Gon agreed, nodding as he looked away from Obi-wan. “How could anyone think of anything but the crisis at hand? The crisis that finds its roots in my decisions.”

For a long instant, Obi-wan was silent, entirely bewildered by both the statement itself and the coldness in Qui-Gon’s tone.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he said at last.

“It was at my insistence that Anakin was brought to the temple to receive training,” Qui-Gon said, entirely matter-of-fact and clinical. “It was I who allowed the Gungan to accompany us and to ultimately become a senator in support of giving the Chancellor heightened power.”

Obi-wan’s face fell hearing that. He couldn’t deny that there was a connection to be made, but it was far from a complete picture of all that had led up to Palpatine’s coup.

“Mast- Qui-Gon, you can hardly blame yourself. So much has happened since the battle for Naboo, none of it by your will.”

“And yet, had I heeded your warnings regarding the boy, then we would be facing a less powerful enemy,” Qui-Gon countered. “I often ignored your caution, throughout your apprenticeship.”

Obi-wan swallowed thickly as he remembered that time in his life. His years at Qui-Gon’s side, fearing that his master’s penchant for bold decisions would catch up with him. Anakin had seemed like another of Qui-Gon’s stubborn risks, but...

“You led us to success just as often,” Obi-wan said, mustering up some stubbornness of his own. “And saved many lives in the process.”

“Yet here, I’ve done quite the opposite,” Qui-Gon said, facing Obi-wan again only to fix him with a hard stare, the kind he’d only ever given Obi-wan when he’d been disappointed. “What makes you say I can’t be blamed for all that’s transpired? Were I on trial for the fall of a Republic, the loss of so many lives, could you truly acquit me?”

Obi-wan furrowed his brow at that, face falling as he pondered. In all likelihood, Palpatine had been plotting long before they’d brought Anakin to the temple, Anakin merely a convenient chip in his game. Yet Qui-Gon had a point; without Anakin’s presence among the Jedi, it may have taken longer for him to gain influence. He may well have been detected as an agent of the dark side before the Republic could be turned into little more than his plaything. And without Senator Binks’ influence, democracy may have been upheld.

Could Obi-wan exonerate Qui-Gon of all of that?

“I could, yes,” he said at last. “Because you gave me so many years with Anakin and I could never see any guilt in that act.”

“Truly?” Qui-Gon pressed. “Surely those years were difficult for you. I can imagine few pupils more challenging than Anakin Skywalker.”

“Anakin-” Obi-wan sighed the name, as though they were still talking about the boy on Tatooine, the one with spirit and drive and a good heart. “Challenging is not how I would have described him. Moody at times, but a quick learner, attuned to the Force like few others. So incredibly rewarding to train and watch grow.” As he spoke, Obi-wan felt a pained smile creep across his face. “I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.”

“Not even the galaxy?” Qui-gon’s tone bordered on accusatory.

Obi-wan frowned and with no small part of guilt replied, “No. Not even for the galaxy.”

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. After what Anakin had done to him, to the Order, the younglings, to everyone and everything, how could he think that, let alone admit to it?

”You truly cared for Anakin,” Qui-Gon answered for him. "For all that he’s fallen to, I’m glad to have given you that and thus paid forward the fulfillment that you gave to me.”

Qui-Gon moved to sit down next to Obi-wan, his comforting influence even stronger at close proximity. Despite the warmth of his presence, though, there was still an unbearable knot twisting within him as he thought about Anakin.

“Nonetheless,” Qui-Gon continued, interrupting Obi-wan’s thought. “It pains me to know that, in doing so, I’ve also given you so much grief and suffering.”

“Master-”

Obi-wan wanted to protest, but found himself silenced as he looked up and found Qui-Gon’s face less than a meter away from his own. He shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet he was still caught off-guard.

“I left you much too soon,” Qui-Gon said, fixing his eyes on Obi-wan’s. “And with the responsibility for the questionable decisions I’d made. Decisions that you protested.”

It was only then that Obi-wan realized that Qui-Gon’s intent had never been to cast blame. Obi-wan wanted to argue as he had before, but found himself silent, just as he would have been when he’d done something that disappointed Qui-Gon in his youth. Only in this instance, it was Qui-Gon scolding himself, with just as much care and consideration as he’d always shown Obi-wan.

“You were prepared to become a knight,” Qui-Gon continued. “You were ready for that responsibility and independence. However, my departure forced you to take on a padawan of your own at the same time. A particularly challenging one, no less, one who the council was certain would fail in one way or another. That was not fair to Anakin, nor was it fair to you.”

“What else could have been done?” Obi-wan asked. “No other Jedi was willing to train him. Too old, too much fear and darkness clouding his being.”

“Even so, that does not make it just,” Qui-Gon said with a kind of conviction that Obi-wan had sorely missed. The kind that Qui-Gon had always shown when he was determined to right a wrong, not simply complete a mission. “I never intended for you to inherit my personal responsibilities. Certainly not so soon.”

“You must know that I do not begrudge you,” Obi-wan breathed, horrified at the mere idea of Qui-Gon believing that he was bitter over the premature loss. “As much as it pained me, as much as I wished that our duel with Maul had ended differently, I would never hold anything against you.”

“I know,” Qui-Gon said, a smile returning to his face. “You’ve shown yourself to be remarkably resilient, cunning, and selfless even in the face of great despair.” Qui-Gon regarded him with quiet kind of awe. “Despite all of the hardships I left you with, you’ve found great success.”

Warmth welled up in Obi-wan at that praise. Qui-Gon had never spoken a cruel word to him, and he encouraged Obi-wan to no end, but clear approval was always hard earned from him. He was more likely to utter “good enough” than “good job” upon seeing Obi-wan succeed. Obi-wan had found it terribly frustrating at times, but it also led to him pushing himself, and through that, to some of the most treasured memories that he had. This moment might have been one of those, yet it was dampened by the cold reality of his situation.

“No, I haven’t succeeded,” he said, bowing his head and resting it in his palm once again. “Master, the Republic, the Jedi, it’s not fallen on your watch but mine. You may have brought Anakin to the temple, but I failed to protect him from Palpatine’s influence. I failed to uphold the vigilance that a Jedi must.”

Obi-wan wanted to continue to hide his face in his hands, to pretend as though it wasn’t the reality of what had happened, but he forced himself to raise his head to meet Qui-Gon’s eyes as he continued.

“I’ve failed, well and truly. The legacy of the Jedi, your legacy, it’s all in ruins, and, as Anakin’s former master and-” Obi-wan’s throat tightened even as he forced himself to continue. “-closest friend, I carry a large part of the responsibility.”

All the while, Qui-Gon listened to every word with intent, his brow furrowed.

“Obi-wan,” Qui-Gon said, in a gentle tone that was all too familiar. The kind he’d used when judging eyes and ears were out of reach. “You’ve done nothing of the sort. You trained Anakin to the best of your abilities to follow the path of a Jedi. It was not your hand that crafted the plot of the Sith nor carried it out.”

“Even so, we might have delayed this,” Obi-wan insisted, not yet willing to concede. “We could have had more time to plan, we could have prepared.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It’s not for us to say what may have happened,” Qui-Gon said with a hint of melancholy. “We may only influence the present and the future, a capability we ought to be grateful for.”

Obi-wan would have liked to have argued, to have had some kind of retort, but Qui-Gon’s wisdom was difficult to contradict without being petty.

“There will be more opportunities,” Qui-Gon assured him. “One misstep, however large, can’t destroy the galaxy. Balance shall be maintained. I sense great promise in the twins, hope anew.”

“We saw hope in Anakin, placed our faith in him,” Obi-wan retorted, sharper than he’d intended. “What’s to say that either of them won’t fall just as their father did?”

“What’s to say that they won’t be strong of heart and pure of will, just as you are?” Qui-Gon shook his head, half-smiling. “All these years and still you struggle to trust.”

Qui-Gon’s words were balanced, wise, even tender, and yet, they seemed to turn Obi-wan’s mood for the worse. All the frustration and anger at Anakin and himself boiled over once more with nowhere to go but out. Made even worse as such emotions were unorthodox of a Jedi, of which he was one of very few remaining. He ought to have been more stalwart in upholding their traditions, their Code, and yet his next words were entirely in opposition to that.

“No, I’ve trusted far too much since your loss.” Obi-wan clenched his hands into fists before bringing one up against his still aching head. “I should have paid greater mind to him, kept him from so many rash choices, kept him away from Padme, everything the Council warned us of.”

“Those choices were his to make, not yours, Obi-wan. If we’re to talk in theoreticals, forcing your will onto him may well have made him more resentful sooner.”

“Would that be such a terrible thing? If he’d only been less powerful, if we’d acted sooner, if I’d…”

Obi-wan hesitated to finish his sentence, unwilling to voice how personally hurt he was by Anakin’s turn. After so many years of their brotherhood, Anakin had simply tossed it all aside over the fear of loss. And because of that fear, they had both lost everything.

Qui-Gon understood, near immediately. Both the Force and their years together made that obvious.

“If I’d only been there with you and Anakin,” he finished for Obi-wan, melancholic and mournful.

Obi-wan choked on whatever reply may have formed in his burning throat. 

“Perhaps I could have stayed, in the moment. Nothing is absolute until it happens.” Hurt came through in Qui-Gon’s voice, mirroring Obi-wan’s. “But, for what has already come to pass, there is nothing more to be done.”

It hurt to hear, though Obi-wan knew it was true. If only he’d done something differently, if only he could turn back time, thoughts that were naught but childish pipe dreams.

“It’s terribly easy to dwell on the past,” Qui-Gon said, as though reading Obi-wan’s thoughts. “I’m certainly not immune. I wish I could have seen you sooner, watched you grow as you helped Anakin grow.”

Obi-wan was sure that this little story had a moral, just like all the little stories Qui-Gon had told him over so many years. It wasn’t long before it became glassy clear.

“But why should I sulk when I can see you now?” Qui-Gon asked, reaching a hand up to brush against Obi-wan’s shoulder. It was a strange sensation, like being caressed by the lightest of breezes. “When I can admire the man you’ve grown to be and all that you’ve accomplished in the time we’ve been separated. All that could be done has been, so why allow regret to prevent me from seeing that?”

In life, Qui-Gon had been a well of sagely wisdom, seemingly without even trying. It seemed that even death itself hadn’t so much as slowed that well down. Obi-wan found himself prickling with annoyance at Qui-Gon’s silver lining perspective, but, at the same time, he had no sensible counter-argument, which annoyed him even further. It was rapidly eating away at his years of carefully trained self-control. Self-control that had already been eroded by the events of the past several weeks.

“With every due respect, Qui-Gon, you weren’t there these past cycles.” He gritted his teeth, well-aware of how unfair he was being, how close to the Dark side his feelings were. “You didn’t see the battles, the loss, the betrayal. It’s easy for you to say that I ought not dwell, that I need to keep my eyes forward.”

Qui-Gon offered no counter, only a deep-set gaze of concern. Against his training and better instincts, and with anger bubbling in his chest, Obi-wan continued.

“You didn’t have to see so many of my friends, _our_ friends, die. You don’t have to live with that, not the way I do.” Obi-wan clenched his fists. He was always left to pick up the pieces, like that fateful day on Naboo. One moment Qui-Gon had been there as a guiding light, a hand of comfort, and the next, he was simply gone. Obi-wan had faced pain he’d thought unbearable then, but, as the years had gone by, so much worse had come to pass. “More will die while I sit here in exile, watching over the boy. Palpatine has greater ambitions, no doubt, and I can do _nothing_.”

At the mention of that man’s name - that damnable Sith Lord - Obi-wan’s mind shifted to Anakin once more, and his anger was tainted with overwhelming sadness.

“You didn’t see Anakin change, the darkness that infected him, and what I had to do-”

Obi-wan cut off as his voice broke. There was no image in his memory more painful than Anakin lying on the molten ground beneath him. That very same child who had so often looked to him for guidance and comfort, now declaring his hatred even as he lay on death’s doorway. It was that thought that finally had tears burning his eyes.

Though Qui-Gon was the only one he could have trusted to see him this compromised, Obi-wan still couldn’t help but feel shame in his words and behavior. He hid his face against the sleeve of his robe, tensing up as sobs wracked him. Every pain that he’d endured after Qui-Gon’s death ripped its way to the surface. Every agonizing experience he’d ever shrugged off as he’d been taught to do.

“Obi-wan, my dearest apprentice…” Qui-Gon said in the softest of whispers.

As he struggled through all of his repressed emotions, Obi-wan felt a lighter than light caress against his scalp. Though the touch was barely felt, Obi-wan immediately found his mind steered away from Anakin and the wars, and to a time long before. A time when Obi-wan had struggled in his training, been frustrated and pessimistic, yet everything had seemed better as Qui-Gon stroked his head and assured him that he would prevail. Assured him that he would never give up on Obi-wan, and had never stopped caring for him.

Though the memories were a welcome change, they only intensified his tears.

“You weren’t _there_ ,” Obi-wan managed, only just managing to wrench his gaze back towards Qui-Gon. “When I needed you, you weren’t…”

Qui-Gon had indeed reached out a hand to the back of Obi-wan’s head, and, through bleary eyes, Obi-wan thought that he might be ready to shed tears as well, if that were possible.

“I am truly sorry,” he said, seeming to rest his free hand on Obi-wan’s arm in an additional gesture of comfort. “I would have given anything, done anything to stay with you.”

Obi-wan’s face twisted at that, chest tightening until the pressure was near-unbearable. He let his head drop once more, tilted towards Qui-Gon. He knew that there was no hiding his face in Qui-Gon’s chest, as he once would have given the opportunity. All he could do was bask as much as he dared in Qui-Gon’s reassuring Force presence.

For a long stretch, the only sound that passed between them was Obi-wan’s rattling breaths as he wept. He had no one to answer to, no one who he could save or protect. All he was left with were scars and the memories attached to them.

Obi-wan didn’t know how much time had passed before he finally was able to regain his composure, but he couldn’t have wept any more if he’d tried. He was wrung out, physically and emotionally, and left exhausted. On top of that too, the temporary nature of Qui-Gon’s presence became evermore apparent. His presence was so light that he felt that he might disappear just as swiftly as he’d arrived.

Obi-wan knew that he must have been a mess to behold when he lifted his head once more. Qui-Gon was there to regard him with all the kindness in the galaxy, but how long could that last?

“And now, I suppose, you’ll have to leave me again,” Obi-wan said, his anger burned and cried out, leaving only bitter resignation.

Qui-Gon’s sympathetic frown melted into one of confusion.

“You think I intend to waste this gift?” he asked, quirking his brow. “To leave you all alone on this hostile planet, where I once gambled our fates on the skill of a boy?”

Obi-wan stared at him, face scrunching in puzzlement. He wanted to believe what Qui-Gon was claiming, that he’d have the company of his mentor, friend, and practically the only family he’d ever had, but, after so much disappointment and loss, his skepticism remained

“Surely there must be a limit on this form,” Obi-wan suggested. “Your influence on the Force must meet resistance with no body to channel your will.”

“I’m sure there are limits. I’ve yet to be able to move anything, to provide any but the softest of touches for you to sense.” Qui-Gon offered a tentative smile. “Though, it’s not merely my own will allowing me to manifest. I would suggest that it is, in fact, your will, Obi-wan.”

“Mine?” Obi-wan balked at the idea. “I’ve made no attempts to call you to me.”

Qui-Gon chuckled at that, his smile growing fonder by the moment.

“You know better than to assume that the Force is influenced only by conscious effort.” His smile turned warmer then. “You’ve had me on your mind, even before Master Yoda summoned me. I’ve heard you speaking, seeking out my guidance. ”

Obi-wan swallowed around his still sore throat, oddly embarrassed despite having had every intent to speak to Qui-Gon through the Force.

“You- heard me?” he stammered. “Truly?”

“Not as clearly as I do now. More of a whisper,” Qui-Gon admitted. “But now that you are alone, without distractions, the feelings you’ve locked away carry more freely, and allow me to be here.”

Obi-wan couldn’t help but give a dry chuckle. His former master made matters of the Force sound so simple, yet strangely refined.

“I’m to believe that you’re here because it’s what my emotions desire?”

“Emotion is powerful,” Qui-Gon offered. “The power those feelings carry is why the code demanded a lack of attachments.”

“To feel is to begin the path of a Sith,” Obi-wan said, a droning echo of his training. Training that had been flagrantly ignored not but a few moments ago. “To open the door to rage and hatred.”

“The code was quite narrow in its view of emotion,” Qui-Gon sighed. “I only wish I’d ignored it more often. You deserved far more affection than I offered to you.”

Obi-wan blinked, puzzled by that statement.

“Master, you gave me more affection than anyone ever had in my life,” he said, shaking his head. “I was treated as nothing before you, I _was_ nothing before you-”

“You were not,” Qui-Gon said, calm and confident as ever.

Even with the interruption, Obi-wan didn’t miss a beat. “You could have left me to be sent away from the temple, to never complete my training, but you insisted on mentoring me, caring for me, and I didn’t understand why. I was grateful, of course, but…”

Obi-wan trailed off, unsure of what else he could say to express how puzzled he had been. How puzzled he still was by Qui-Gon’s decisions. As he sat in silence, Qui-Gon’s transparent hand came down to hover over Obi-wan’s own. Obi-wan hissed in a breath, the sensation stronger than when his head had been touched, if what Qui-Gon did could be described as such. It reminded him of a medical numbing agent, but more subtle and warm.

“I’ve come to realize I could never have had a better master,” he finally said

Qui-Gon’s smile picked up again in response to Obi-wan’s, even brighter this time, the lines in his face pinching up. 

“You don’t think?” he asked, taking on a light teasing tone that Obi-wan had been subjected to many, many times in the past. “Not Master Windu? Master Fisto? Not even Yoda?”

“By the Force, _no_ ,” Obi-wan said, wrinkling his nose. He wasn’t even immediately sure why the idea put a bad taste in his mouth, but it was quick to come to him. “I wouldn’t have known any joy with them. You didn’t only teach me of the Code and the Force, you gave me levity, security, _love_.”

“Unbecoming of a Jedi,” Qui-Gon commented, feigning aloofness. “But nothing less than what you deserved.”

There was more that Obi-wan could have said to that, more about their lives together, what Obi-wan felt for his master.

Instead, he simply said, “It would be nice. To have companionship in exile.”

For a long stretch, the two of them sat in silence. Obi-wan could sense well enough that Qui-Gon was pleased, overjoyed even, at his decision, but still there was much left unsaid.

“And not only because I’d like to have a companion,” Obi-wan continued, sitting up straight. “But because it’s you and not anyone else.”

Even in his ethereal form, warmth seemed to radiate from Qui-Gon on hearing that.

“And I cannot imagine anyone better to spend the afterlife with than you, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan’s heart swelled, and he found that he couldn’t keep the smile off his face, bittersweet as it may have been. Even if he could have, he was certain that Qui-Gon would have sensed the strong feeling within him.

“I- I suppose that I ought not go by Obi-wan anymore,” he said. “Too distinct. Too fanciful among the locals.”

“I suppose so,” Qui-gon said with an agreeable nod. “Though, no matter what you choose, you’ll always be Obi-wan to me.”

“I’d have it no other way. Master.”

The final word was a pointed afterthought, a mark of both respect and affection, and Qui-Gon smiled once again at the sound of it.

“We may yet be master and apprentice for one final time,” he said. “But for now, I’d simply like to enjoy your company.”

Qui-Gon’s words or, more accurately, the way they were said washed comfort over Obi-wan. He knew it wasn’t practical or even deserved, but Qui-Gon had always had a way of easing Obi-wan’s anxieties. It had been true when Obi-wan was little more than a boy, and it seemed that it was true now that he’d long since become a man. Soothing eyes and soothing words could make even the most dire situation easier to bear. They brought Obi-wan back to a time in his life when, no matter what happened, he knew Qui-Gon was there to set the galaxy right.

Things were different now, so much more complicated, but, for the sake of his own sanity, it was good to feel that all would be well again. Someday.

“I’ve always been with you, you know,” Qui-Gon said suddenly, clearly sensing his thoughts. “Though not in the form I would have liked, I was with you. Within the flow of the Force.”

All at once, Obi-wan couldn’t help but remember the times all throughout the Clone Wars when, really, he ought to have panicked more thoroughly. In fact, he would likely have if he’d still been his worrisome apprentice self. Perhaps, in those times of great need, he’d always had support.

“I believe I know what you mean,” Obi-wan agreed. He cleared his throat, finding it tightening up once more, but for an entirely different pain. An ache that he hadn’t felt since Qui-Gon’s death.

Obi-wan hadn’t noticed that the darkness peeking through the roof was beginning to fade until Qui-Gon spoke.

“The first sun is beginning its rise,” he said, in a strange, knowing tone. “Its sister shall not be far behind.”

Sure enough, pinkish early morning light had begun to filter into the shack, painting Obi-wan’s hands. Qui-Gon’s form was conspicuously unaffected by the light. It seemed to ignore his presence and shine directly onto the cot, as though he wasn't there at all. Obi-wan had assumed that he would be harder to see in the light, but he was just as clear as he’d been in near total darkness. All of the factors indicated that Qui-Gon was more than a mere visual projection.

But it wasn’t the time for thinking about such things; it was time to continue moving. Obi-wan got to his feet and moved to gather up his small pack.

“Obi-wan, you’re still exhausted,” Qui-Gon pleaded.

Obi-wan shook his head. “I can’t waste any daylight, and I can’t stay here.”

He moved out of the hut, not entirely sure where he would go next, only that he needed to keep going. Even if he hadn’t the faintest idea of where he would have liked to stay, somehow it seemed like a better choice than staying put. Maybe it would have been better to become a nomad, as the planet’s natives were. Or, if not better, easier.

Although, as he reached the edge of the ridge that the hut sat on, he hesitated before making his way down. In the dim light of day, he realized that the location really did have its benefits. It was defensible, with a long view over the desert dunes. Obi-wan’s senses would have alerted him to hostile presences, but a good sightline never hurt, and, in the early morning light, he had to admit that the horizon was truly beautiful.

“Obi-wan,” Qui-Gon said from behind him. “Please, what’s troubling you?”

Obi-wan bit his lip, afraid to look at him for a long moment.

“Everything has been so chaotic,” he said, picking his words carefully. “You’re right, Master, I’m more tired than I’ve ever been in my life. But if I stop here, what if something else happens? What if it becomes just another precious thing to be torn away from me? What if...”

Obi-wan trailed off, knowing full well how ridiculous his fears were now that they were verbalized. He’d experienced so much loss already, so why should he be so afraid now?

“Whatever you decide, I’ll not leave you, not for as long as I can,” Qui-Gon promised him. “That being said, I know that you could make this into a fine home. ”

Obi-wan had to scoff, turning to look upon both Qui-Gon and the shack.

“I’m no craftsman,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve seldom built anything, let alone repaired a desert dwelling.”

His words had a smile creeping onto Qui-Gon’s face, one that instinctively made Obi-wan a bit nervous.

“Do you remember the mission we took on Th’Rayl?” he asked, tilting his head.

Obi-wan felt a warm flash of embarrassment at the mention of one of the earliest memories of his apprenticeship.

“I do,” he said, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “It was- not the proudest time in my life. 

Qui-Gon chuckled and nodded, giving a sentimental smile. “You were often difficult back then, and I cannot remember a time when you were more angry at me.”

Difficult was a generous way of describing his behavior. He’d been frustrated and angry by his inability to bond with a Master, which had only intensified when he assumed that Qui-Gon had only taken him on out of pity, and their first task outside of the temple had- Well, Obi-wan certainly hadn't been pleased.

“You weren’t precisely transparent about the nature of that ‘mission’,” Obi-wan said, as though it justified any of his past behavior. “All you told me was that it was important.”

“And it was, quite important indeed,” Qui-Gon said, nodding, that smile only growing more unbearably fond. “And I imagine you remember why.”

Obi-wan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He certainly did, almost verbatim.

"If the fence isn't rebuilt, then the Raminrels chew on the irrigation pipes," Obi-wan said, echoing what Qui-Gon had said to him so long ago. "And if the Raminrels chew the pipes, then the locals can't properly water their crops, and if the crops aren’t properly watered, then there won’t be enough food for them to survive. Therefore, it's a very important mission."

“Isn’t this the same? From a certain point of view, that is.”

Obi-wan fought back the urge to groan, but Qui-Gon perceived his annoyance at the well-worn saying anyway.

“Am I wrong?” Qui-Gon continued to press. “If the roof isn’t rebuilt, then sandstorms will interrupt your sleep, and if your sleep is interrupted, then how will you ever watch over the boy?”

Obi-wan wanted to argue, to make some counterpoint that made leaving this place seem like a better option than it was. Instead, he remained stubbornly quiet, like his words were liable to betray him.

“You snapped at me at every opportunity for all that month,” Qui-Gon said, giving a chuckle. “And yet, you always listened and produced fine work. You may have even enjoyed yourself."

“I did,” Obi-wan admitted with a pained smile. “I liked driving posts into the ground, at least, and seeing the structure come together piece by piece. I liked how peaceful it was in the evenings. It was a much needed change of pace for me.”

Obi-wan had been unable to see it at the time, but Qui-Gon had had that foresight on his behalf. Perhaps he did once again. Obi-wan's shame only intensified on that thought. He’d said many things that he regretted in that time, but one stood out in particular.

“I told you then that if I was to be a Jedi merely because an old fool felt sorry for me, then I didn’t want to be,” Obi-wan recounted, forcing himself to look Qui-Gon in the eye. “I realized how wrong I was long ago, but I was never able to apologize properly. Truly, I’m sorry for that period of my life.”

Qui-Gon’s expression changed then, his smile remaining yet his eyes turning strangely sullen. 

“I’m glad you’ve said that. It shows how far you’ve come,” he said, a bit tepid in his tone, like there was still more on his mind.

Obi-wan didn’t get the chance to question him before he was moving on.

"Come now," he continued, gesturing towards Obi-wan's shelter. "The day draws on and there’s much to be done.”

Obi-wan followed his motion with a sigh. The shack was barely holding together, and he doubted it would survive any more of Tatooine’s sandstorms if left the way it was. Making matters worse, its ideal position on high ground meant that he would absolutely have to avoid using the Force in his rebuilding efforts, for fear of attracting unwanted attention.

"I don't suppose you could help me mend the roof?" Obi-wan asked, well-aware of the answer.

"I'm afraid that, this time, the only support I can offer is of the moral variety," Qui-Gon said with a sheepish sort of smile. “But I have every confidence in your abilities.”

At least one of them did. Obi-wan wasn’t even sure how to start this project, only that his first priority was ensuring that he wouldn’t wake to a layer of sand on the floor and in his bed. How precisely he would accomplish that, however, was uncertain, just as uncertain as Obi-wan himself.

Obi-wan sensed Qui-Gon walked up from behind him long before he turned to look for himself. His smile had dissipated, leaving a thoughtful expression. No doubt he could read Obi-wan like a book, and was choosing his next words carefully.

“I left you with many things unsaid,” he finally settled on. “Many restless thoughts in the back of your mind.”

Qui-Gon took a few steps closer to Obi-wan, regarding him with nothing but kindness and what Obi-wan could only describe as _love_. That absolute taboo among Jedi.

“You apologized for being difficult, but the truth of the matter is that I’d not have traded any of your apprenticeship, that time included, for anything. Not even for the galaxy.” He paused before adding in earnest, “I couldn’t be more proud of you. I should have said that to you a long time ago.”

Upon hearing that, Obi-wan felt his throat constrict and his chest swell, but for entirely different reasons than before. It wasn’t pain that he felt just then, instead it was something considerably stronger, a feeling that he could only place as the sensation of connecting with a kindred soul. A bond even stronger than what he and Qui-Gon had had in life.

“Thank you, Master,” he said, far too muted for the emotion welling up inside him. “That means a great deal to me.”

As they looked at each other, Obi-Wan found himself strangely inclined to put his hand against Qui-Gon's. He knew that he wouldn’t be rebuffed, and so followed that instinct, feeling the flutter that it invoked, the closeness that the sensation represented.

"We have time now to make amends now. Both of us.” Obi-wan hesitated before adding, “I feel at peace."

The realization that he truly meant that was startling, but welcome all the same. Qui-Gon’s eyes seemed to glow as he looked upon Obi-wan, from his face and down to their hands.

“As do I,” he agreed. “Looking into your eyes once more has brought me the greatest of serenity and more hope than I could imagine.”

For once, Obi-wan found that he couldn’t argue, not even half-heartedly. Despite everything, despite how bleak things had seemed, Obi-wan felt a glimmer of the hope that Qui-Gon felt for the future. Not just for the state of the galaxy, but one where there were no more secrets between master and apprentice, and one where they might begin anew.

**Author's Note:**

> Would I write a self-indulgent fic with Force Ghost Qui-Gon talking with Luke? I mean, I might. Might write more with these two too. Shocked it took me this long to get to this ship, given that it's one of my very earliest inoculations to this world.


End file.
